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So I know I’ve skipped a week or so but its not like I’m going to get pregnant or anything. Fear not though, faithful readers, for I have been using the time wisely and have accomplished a great many things.

* I do not want to disappoint our Japanese public, especially Godzilla. Hahaha! I’m just kidding, I know he doesn’t care what humans do. *

1. I have found the connection between my love of rain and bacon. The sound of bacon being fried is not dissimilar to rain falling. Not to mention they’re both very comforting and great in bed.

*Are you achin’? Yup, yup, yup. For some bacon? *

2. I went to a 50’s themed party and decided that my safe place on the dance floor was the twist. Which in hindsight is probably the reason behind my difficulty walking the next day. Or the gentle rapist visited me in my sleep.

3. I got home at 11pm on an attempted night out and carefully charted George Constanza’s receding hairline across three seasons of Seinfeld. This was due to a bad trip at a Spring Breakers themed party several hours prior. The worst part was I didn’t get to show off my costume.

* What on earth are you wearing? You look like a common prostitute. *

4. Nandos is BYO and therefore an excellent place for a party. Just put some candles in that succulent flame grilled peri-peri chicken and you’ve got yourself a party.

* You wanted cake, you got cake! Now eat it! *

5. I finally graduated this week and to celebrate the occasion I decided to take my wand with me. I pretended I was Snape, whirled around in my academic gown and crucio-ed all the bitches. It was a great time. Mostly because I had people fuss over me all day buying me drinks and food. It was like a birthday for my brain!

*You is kind. You is smart. You is important. *

6. I helped my best friend make a video to celebrate his 1-year anniversary with his boyfriend and realized I will be alone forever.

* You look like that flashcard they told me means sadness. *

7. I didn’t like a woman’s outfit while I was walking to the bus stop so I farted upwind from her. Honestly who wears a mint green overcoat with a leopard print dress and zebra print shoes? She deserved to inhale fecal matter.

* You’re tacky and I hate you. *

After my last entry’s comments about Julia Roberts I thought what better place to find further direction than taking life lessons from a streetwalker.

Knowing someone has a thing for you has its upsides; you get to pretend like you’re not in the least bit flattered yet secretly you enjoy the attention. You answer their overly personal game of twenty questions with nonchalance and shrugs. You drop subtle hints of things you want and/or need then they magically appear. You act aloof and disinterested even though on some level the potential of human contact is the greatest thing to happen to you since that time you decided to eat soup in bed and kept the spill on your pillow for a midnight snack. Minestrone, you old devil!

But when you know it will never, ever, in a million years be a thing. Every tactless wink, every attempt at gratuitous body contact, every moment of plutonic banter and every time you catch them raping your unprotected body with their eyeballs makes you want to shrink them down, stuff them in a glass bottle, hide them in a HIVy gash and beat that shit like it’s a piñata on Cinco de Mayo. Especially when it’s at work.

*Never dip your nib in the office ink. *

In light of that particularly unfortunate situation I have been toying with the idea of celibacy. It makes sense. The thought of touching anything remotely phallic fills me with a mixture of anger and fear reserved for the Furby that I hid in my sock drawer at night in order to muffle its demonic phrases before I threw it out the window – not sure if actual childhood memory or plot to The Exorcist.

* I’m going to speak to some food about this. *

I don’t think I could really commit to celibacy though. Considering the pleasure I get from consuming a whole loaf of sourdough is tantamount to orgasm. It would just be wrong. I have been secretly hoping that a coeliac bites me and I become afflicted with gluten intolerance. Both celibacy and bread related abstinence seem somewhat unlikely after the cute sales assistant at the bakery correctly identified my Salvador Dali print jumper, smiled and made my tummy feel funny. Or maybe that was the couple of glasses of wine I had at 2:00pm. Either way, I’m back on the wagon.

* But I already have a drink. Do you think he’d buy me mozzarella sticks? *

So now that it’s well and truly wintertime down under. I can’t for the life of me understand why women continue to dress as though it’s the height of summer. It’s extremely frustrating. I understand that you have daddy issues and an overwhelming desire to parade around like a common whore. But can you please just wear some pants or a garment larger than your fake breasts instead of an outfit comprised predominately of bras and underwear. To those delightful women who scorn the latter please remember to carry a “slippery when wet” sign with you. Your trailing flaps have managed to make the sidewalk “slicker than cat shit on linoleum floor.”

* Mr. Gravity’s been very unkind to that woman. *

I realized that I’ve invested more time in this blog than into any one of my actual relationships. Probably because most of them acted like they were doing a fuck by numbers in the bedroom. And after reading that one in twenty five people are sociopaths I’m concerned that these last five months spent laying out my particular brand of crazy might not stand me in good stead for any sort of relationship; on the wagon or no. Oh well, what can you do? Lawyers are also the second most likely profession to harbor sociopaths. So what with my graduation looming and classes commencing in August at least I know I’m heading in the right direction. Now is a good a time as any time to watch The Pelican Brief and align my career once again with a role played by Julia Roberts. The former was finding a rich husband to take me to polo and curb my whimsical, slutty ways.